


“Would you like to come in?”

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: First Kisses [36]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 22:25:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15672489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: Continuing the series of possible first kisses between these two.





	“Would you like to come in?”

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for Chilly Hollow. Thank you for the prompt!
> 
> “If you want ideas, how about: ...Strike has to replace that Italian suit finally... or Robin sees a lovely leather purse in a shop window and Strike tells her he loves the green version.”
> 
> TWO PROMPTS IN ONE STORY :D
> 
> (Don’t seem to be able to tag you sorry...)

 

Strike plonked a cup of tea on Robin’s desk. “Thanks,” she said, glancing up from her report to flash him a quick smile before returning to the screen.

“Um...” he paused, lingering by her desk instead of returning to his office. She looked up again. He looked uncertain and slightly sheepish. Intrigued now, she removed her hands from the keyboard and turned to face him. “What’s up?”

He hesitated again, then suddenly said, “Are you busy tomorrow?”

Robin tried not to look too surprised. Was he about to suggest doing something on a Saturday? Together? “No,” she said, cautiously.

Strike sighed and ran a hand through his unruly hair. “I need to get a new suit for this do we’ve got to go to next weekend,” he said. “I could use a female point of view, and Ilsa’s busy and Lucy is... well, Lucy.”

Robin suppressed a smile. “Sure,” she said. “Text me when and where.”

He nodded. “Thanks,” he said, brisk suddenly, and headed back to his own desk. Robin turned back to her screen, intrigued and amused. This should be interesting.

...

They met outside John Lewis after lunch. Strike looked distinctly uncomfortable and Robin wondered if he was regretting asking her.

“I can wander off, you know,” she offered, but he shook his head. “I just hate trying stuff on,” he said. “It’s a massive hassle, with the leg. But you can’t not try on a suit.”

“Well, I’m in no hurry,” Robin said as they made their way through the store. She stopped suddenly with a little gasp. “Oh, look at that bag,” she murmured, gazing at a cased display of neat clutch bags with buckles. The range of colours was laid out in a row behind the glass, and she’d stopped in front of the black one.

“Sorry,” she said, smiling apologetically at him. “Forgot I wasn’t with a girlfriend.”

Strike grinned at her. “No worries,” he said. “Handbags are, as you’d imagine, not my forte. But I’d say the green would suit you.” He pointed to the emerald-coloured version a few bags along.

It was the exact colour of the dress he’d given her a couple of years ago, that she had never worn - at least not outside her flat. Matthew had hated it as much as he had hated the giver of it, and since they’d split up, she’d had no opportunity to wear such a stunning dress.

Her cheeks pink, Robin glanced sideways at him, and he looked away hurriedly, as though afraid he’d given too much away. “Menswear’s that way,” he said, pointing and moving towards the back of the store.

Robin followed, thinking. Maybe it was time to give that dress its first outing, next to Strike’s new suit. She’d not really given the party they had to attend the following weekend much thought until now.

They arrived at the men’s suits section and Strike looked around and sighed a little.

“Come on,” Robin said briskly, businesslike. “Let’s narrow it down. Three-piece or two? Single-breasted? Dark or light?”

They worked their way down to a few options, and Strike selected likely sizes and headed for the fitting rooms. “I’ll wait around here,” Robin said, a little flustered suddenly. This was a weird activity to be undertaking with her business partner.

“Don’t go too far,” he said. “You’re here for opinions, remember. Honest ones, please.”

Robin busied herself looking at the ties and trying not to think about Strike taking his clothes off just beyond the wall she was standing by.

Presently he appeared, and she appraised him critically. Any suit looked good on his broad frame, accentuating his shoulders and disguising his slightly overweight midriff. But the light grey didn’t work for his colouring.

She shook her head. “Not that one,” she said. “The cut’s okay, but the colour’s wrong. You look washed out. Have you got something darker?”

“Black?” he said, but she shook her head again. “Too funereal,” she said. “And might also make you look too pale. Navy, maybe, or charcoal?” She saw the way he was looking at her, and giggled. “You wanted honesty,” she said.

He nodded. “True,” he said, and returned obediently to the changing room. Robin went back to examining the ties.

“Can I help you?” An assistant had turned up, a middle-aged woman with an air that was helpful, bordering on bossy.

“Oh, I think we’re fine, thanks,” Robin said. “My, er, partner’s just trying on some suits.”

The woman nodded and moved away, straightening rails of jackets, and then bustled off to help another customer.

Strike appeared again. Robin turned to look, and her eyes widened and her jaw almost dropped.

This was the suit. A dark charcoal grey, it fitted across his broad shoulders perfectly. The cut of the jacket seemed to taper his waist somehow, and the colour made his dark eyes darker and sexier than ever. The trousers made him look taller, even without his shoes. He turned to look in the mirror behind him, and she sighed a little at the back view of him, all broad shoulders and fitted backside.

“Well?” he asked impatiently, turning back to her, and she realised she was staring without saying anything.

“Yes,” she managed. He looked at her.

“Yes?”

“Yes. That’s the one,” she nodded.

Strike looked at himself in the mirror again. “You sure?” he said.

“God, yes,” she said emphatically, and he turned back to look at her again, one eyebrow raised. She flushed.

“Needs a white shirt, though,” she said, dragging her eyes away. “Shall I find one?”

“That would be great, thanks,” he said, grinning roguishly at her reaction, and she hurried off to find a shirt.

When she returned with a small selection, he had disappeared back into the changing room. Robin looked around for help, but the bossy assistant was nowhere to be seen.

“Er, Cormoran?” She stepped cautiously into the changing area. “I’ve got some shirts.”

“In here.” The door to the nearest cubicle opened, and a muscled arm reached out. Robin wordlessly held out the shirts. Strike opened the door further to bring them in. His body was obscured by the door, but she could see in the mirror over his shoulder that he was shirtless, wearing only the charcoal grey suit trousers. His back in the mirror was broad and muscular. Robin, already with an image of his suited gorgeousness in her head, couldn’t stop staring. Arousal stirred in her groin.

“Er...” Strike said, amused, and Robin realised that she hadn’t actually let go of the shirts. She blushed again, but carried on looking, then slowly raised her eyes to his.

There was a heated pause, and he held her gaze. Robin couldn’t look away, mesmerised suddenly by the images in her head, by his half-naked nearness, by the way he was looking at her.

Then he opened the door wider, revealing his broad, thickly-haired chest. “Would you like to come in?” he asked, his voice husky suddenly. Robin had taken a step forwards before she even realised what she was doing. She could smell him now, his deodorant and his unique scent, musky and warm. She took another step, her eyes drawn to the dark chest hair she longed to touch.

He pulled on the shirts she was still holding, pulling her into the cubicle and swinging the door closed behind her. Robin wilfully closed her mind to thoughts of what folly this was as she leaned back against the door. Strike paused, his eyes on hers, questioning. He was so large in the small space, so masculine. Desire swept through her at their closeness and she found herself reaching for him, her hands sliding into his pelt of chest hair as he leaned down to kiss her.

His mouth slanted across hers, his lips moving against hers, exploring, his hands finding her waist. Robin hummed a little into his mouth, her hands spreading across his chest, stroking the soft hair that had long fascinated her in the glimpses she had seen of it over the years. She felt rather than heard his rumble of appreciation at her touches. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding to meet hers, and her arms crept around his back. His body was warm against her, his scent filled her senses. Desire rose in her as they kissed and kissed, and she pulled him closer against her so that he was pressing her into the door.

A sharp rap on the door made her almost jump out of her skin, and they broke apart. Robin ducked her head, shy suddenly, burying her face in his shoulder.

“Everything okay, sir?” called the bossy assistant. “Can I fetch you any other sizes?”

“Er, no, all good thanks,” answered Strike, winking at Robin who stifled a snort. “Think I’ve made my decision.”

“Your girlfriend seems to have left,” came the suspicious reply.

“Yeah, I think she went to look at handbags,” Strike said, and Robin bit back a giggle. They heard bustling footsteps retreating.

Strike grinned at Robin. “Anyone would think they’ve had people making out in the changing rooms before,” he said softly.

“And now we have to work out how I’m going to get out without being spotted!” Robin whispered, amused and alarmed in equal measure.

Strike winked. “I vote we just stay here till she finishes her shift,” he said, and kissed her again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [And to go with it...](https://lulacat3.tumblr.com/post/176954457490)


End file.
